#naming conventions of middle earth

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Today in questions people weren’t exactly asking but I am thinking about nonetheless…

I am deeeep in the weeds of the lead-up to the kinstrife in Gondor because I had an idea for LOTR Week’s ancestors and history prompt (lol on the timing, maybe I’ll have it done before the *next* LOTR Week rolls around!) and in the process, I think I might have found a (personally) satisfying answer to the question of why Rohan has a tradition of “Elf-” names (Elfhelm, Elfhild, Elfwine, etc.) when they are not a culture that has substantive ties to the elves and, in fact, were even kind of hostile to them at times.

The kinstrife happened because Valacar, son and heir of the king of Gondor, went to live as an ambassador of sorts with the Northmen (the proto-Rohirrim), fell in love with and married a Northman princess, and had a half-Northman son who became Valacar’s own heir. A substantial number of Gondorians wouldn’t accept this half-Northman son as their king after Valacar’s death, and so there was a coup and a civil war before the son eventually retook and held the throne. That son was named Vinitharya, which means “victor of the east” in the language of the Northmen, but Valacar had also given him a Gondorian name to help ensure the Gondorians would accept him and see him as one of them (a good thought, even if it didn’t entirely work!). The name he chose was Eldacar, which is Quenya for “elf helm”!*

So MAYBE the Northmen honored and esteemed Eldacar, who is a son of their royal house just as much as a son of Gondor’s. They were proud of him and what he accomplished as one of them. He came from THEIR community, ascended to the highest levels of power in the biggest empire in all of Middle Earth, withstood a coup and a civil war against him to hold onto that power, greatly expanded rights and opportunities for other Northmen living in Gondor, and had his own son (Aldamir) who eventually succeeded him and kept those Northmen genes in the Gondorian royal family. OF COURSE they’d be proud, and maybe they were so proud that they started naming their kids after him. Maybe they took the name Eldacar, translated it back into their language, and kept using it consistently over the years. The name followed along with the changes in the language as the Northmen became first the Éothéod and then the Rohirrim, and eventually we see it being used as “Elfhelm” in late Third Age Rohan, where it has also spun off a whole bunch of other, related “Elf-” prefix names in the process. Maybe? I don’t know, but I like it!

*All the dynamics on the naming here are FASCINATING to me. The name of Valacar’s father, King Romendacil, ALSO happens to translate as “east victor,” which he started using as his regnal name after defeating a bunch of Easterlings together with Northmen allies led by Valacar’s father in law, Vidugavia. So it seems that when Valacar chose to name his kid Vinitharya, he was both naming his son after his own father, Romendacil, and referencing a historical event that brought the Gondorians/his family and the Northmen/his wife’s family together, just as Vinitharya himself was a union of Gondorian and Northman identities and families. So sweet! Then when they changed his name to Eldacar, they went 100% in the opposite direction, abandoning any ties to the Northmen and even the little tribute to Romendacil and choosing instead a name that was as Gondorian as could be. The first man to bear the name Eldacar was a grandson of Isildur himself, who was of course the last High King of both Gondor and Arnor and one of the founders of the whole realm. That makes sense as a strategy when the goal is to legitimize Eldacar in Gondorian eyes, but the loss of the name Vinitharya is so much sadder when you think about what it all means! (Please excuse my ridiculous enthusiasm for all of this minutiae, I love it though I recognize it’s probably a bunch of silly Name Salad to a lot of people!)

[idkaguyorsomething]

an elven healer who specializes in treating wounds of the mind. his name is aderall.

[lunamond]

The most annoying thing about all the self-proclaimed Tolkien lore purists, upset about Rop's orc family, is that the show doesn't just have the most interesting depiction of orcs but also the most faithful of all adaptations.

Rop's orcs have families like Tolkien's naming convention of "Bolg son of Azog" in the Hobbit strongly suggests. They are actually quite reluctant to go to war if they don't have to, which is sth we also see in the Lotr when a couple of orcs complain about Sauron forcing them into war and they wistfully speak about going back East and being free together. Even the orcs aversion to Sauron’s leadership and clear lack of respect shown in the new season's opening is sth found in Tolkien's own writing. In Nature of Middle-earth, he writes that the eastern orcs ridiculed and made fun of Sauron’s fair appearance.

Rop is by no means perfect, neither as a show nor an adaptation, but it is quite telling that some of the loudest detractors continue to make the most asinine complaints.

[evilminji]

Actually? WOULD Earth be the ones to petition Oa?

They are interstellar Space Interpol. You don't usually call them on different parts of your OWN settlements or systems. You call them in when someone is breaking THE Laws. Not necessarily YOUR laws, though obviously by breaking THE laws they clearly ARE. But THE Big Laws(tm).

Like Geneva Convention for Space type laws.

You have discovered Planet or King X is committing WAR CRIMES. Call Oa. Tax fraud? That's an inter-personal planet side issue they can't help you with. Pointing Nukes at your nursery settlement and threatening to blow up the infants there unless you give them sex-slaves?

Knock-knock! Taste HARD Light Constructs!

But if so? Then how would the situation get so out of hand on Earth? With the G.I.W.? Simple. Tell me, Mr. President, what do you know of the current day to day life of villagers in rural Siberia?

That they exist? Could you even NAME their village, if I referenced specific individuals? Likely not. And no one would realistically expect you too.

There are countless planets out there! With Leaders busy with local industrial conferences and infrastructure bills. Farming regulations. Talks with that planet a few stars over. Very busy. What do THEY know of Earth? Why would they NEED too?

But! As we know, Ectoplasm is EVERYWHERE. Not just earth. And? Thin spots are not just an Earth-centric phenomenon. Other planets most CERTAINLY would have them too. And depending on the species? The culture? To quote the wise sage Bill Wurtz "you can make a religion out of this!"

After all, chosen few, returned from death... glowing and more powerful then before? Immortal? It's a pretty reasonable conclusion to come too. They are clearly Gods Touched. Some sacred task they must complete.

It would likely even shape the ghosts of the region themselves. After all, they TOO, would believe they were chosen for some Important Religious Task. Be it study or collecting rocks. To what end? Unknown. Who are they to question The Gods?

But! Oh happy day! The old tyrant is no more! A chosen Hero! They go to greet him! Honor him, as you do. Traditional gifts and ballads. Maybe some sacred rocks. A fancy hat. But? Oh? The Champion is wounded! Gasp! Still? But the fight with Pariah happened-

And then they are given Grave Warning(tm). Don't go to Earth. Heretics attacking people. KILLING souls! Trying to KILL the king of all the Infinite! He is somber because his living parents were hurt. Preventing the END OF ALL THINGS!!!??

WHAT!?

These "People In White" tried to EXPLODE the very FABRIC of all realities!? Several of them faint. Truely, these Fentons MUST be chosen by the Gods! Heros. Legends. Such bravery in the face of such HORRORS. Please, let them be brought to their Living counterparts! The hospitals are quite good!

And you know what? Fuck it. Danny will take that. Because his Mom n Dad got hurt. BAD.

They learned he was Phantom at probably the SINGLE worst time imaginable and still chose HIM. Chose THEM. The GIW were coming for him. Gonna hurt Jazz. And his parents told them, with fire and blood, it'd be a cold day in hell before they let them so much as TRY it.

They BLEW UP their own life's work. Went literally scorched earth. And now? They're not doing so good.

Because the Zone isn't made for the living. No food, no water, and no real human-safe medical supplies. They've run out. Danny will take what he can get. He'd even go to Vlad but... his Portal's gone too. And the Buzzards said he looked... spirally. Very... "suicide runs until everything BURNS".

So, yeah. No one's doing so great.

Alien planet it is.

They are greeted with fanfare and respect. The best medical teams on the PLANET. The King and his family is there, to welcome him. It's... it's beautiful. Hardly some perfect utopia, but the air is lite. Art everywhere. The stars vivid and so easy to see, at night.

The King kinda reminds him of Mr. Lancer to be honest. Balding and a bit round around the middle, stern but endlessly fair about it, wants people to do their best and succeed in life. Maybe that's why Danny finds himself opening up. Because... because here is a real, honest to God, KING king.

Somebody who was actually TRAINED to do all this King stuff.

Unlike Danny.

And Danny? He's scared. People expect him to Lead now. To know what he's doing. To somehow just... suddenly KNOW how to do all these things he's never even heard about. He only barely just died. Has BARELY been keeping everybody safe.

BARELY stopped Pariah.

He doesn't know what to do. But he pours his guts out. All the things that have bottled up. And King Not-Lancer listens. Somber and thoughtful. There is little, if anything he can TRUELY do to help. But... there ARE things he can do. Lessons on statescraft, while he's here, for one.

As for the other? Well, as King, he does have the local Lantern's Call Sign. Not to be used lightly, mind you. But what Danny describes? And from what the Sacred Ones have reported? THAT must be reported to Oa. He can show Danny how to do that.

(He does)

[The Lanterns of Earth get a VERY exciting call from Oa. Are every different shade of pissed. But? Whoops! Looks like they ACCIDENTALLY put the Watchtower into a complete Quarantine! Well, dang. Guess we're all stuck here for two weeks!

Reset it? *sound of smashing computer terminal* Yeah, don't think that's gonna work! :)

WHO WANTS TO PLAY 20 QUESTIONS?? We'll start! :) Who here has heard of an organization called, and I quote, The Ghost Investigation Ward? :) ]

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[pseudoquiddity]

Here's my little piece on (P1) Utopianism and orientalism/Utopian co-opting of (other) cultures (and some broadly Asian fun facts):

What's always struck me is the undercurrent of Asian aesthetic influence in P1 and one obvious reason for why it's there at all is the fact that they're bordering Mongolia and China. Many Eurasian nomads are artistically influenced by regional, cultural styles in the middle east, India, China, etc. that central and southern Asian area. But since the Kin's artistic aesthetic (in P1) reflect a utilitarianism use of leather and, broadly speaking, the Earth, where this influence appears most is with the Utopians.

Take Eva Yan, for example! I've only heard her clothes described as "strange," but the style is very reminiscent of a certain kind of dress ...

She's wearing something close to an Indian petticoat and blouse, but she's missing the saree. It might actually be what's around her neck. Indian blouses typically end above the stomach and are either long-sleeved (like what Eva's wearing) or go to the elbows. It even looks like the material might be the same, which would be silk. It seems to me that Eva Yan is doing in P1 what she's doing in P2; she's taking all of her favorite parts of a certain culture's dress and outfitting it to her tastes. Indian clothes are designed to be breathable, but Eva uses that design to look alluring. I would say that the Stamatins do the same thing in their own way; The Broken Heart's interior design and opium pipes evoke the Western-exported idea of Asian drug dens and they name their dead colleague Farkhad, based off the Persian story of Khosrow and Shirin, whether he was Persian, in the area or not - we wouldn't know.

Maria(and Eva?)'s occasional use of the honorific en-Daniil is reflective of this, too. "en" is short for "encik" and is a Malaysian convention. The reason why it's "en-Daniil" and not "en-Dankovsky" is because Malaysian names are structured like "Razak bin Osman," where the "bin" means "son of." It would be odd to call someone "Mister son of Osman," so it's either "en-Razak" or "en-Razak bin Osman."

Off the top of my head, those are the most explicit examples ... and, obviously, the Utopians all use the Kin's culture and aesthetics, too, and incorporate whatever about it interests them into their lifestyles. That aside (or not), as for why the Utopians specifically do this --- it may really be because they live in Asia. Personally, I interpret this as a very individualistic case of orientalism that expresses how Utopians seek out aesthetic beauty and concepts they find both appealing and "other" --- whether this is natural-law-breaking ideas or other cultures. I think this is a very cherry-picked kind of admiration.

[little-diable]

Committed Sins – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

This is pure filth. And I'm not sorry for it. Don't copy or edit this to Wattpad or Ao3 please. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle and (y/n) keep on playing the same game over and over again, pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, piv, wrong use of a rosary, spanking, degrading, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x nun!fem!reader (1.5k words)

“Sister (y/n)?” The sharp voice left her tensing, eyes flickering up from the ground to meet Sister Jeany’s dark eyes. The elderly woman stared her down, hand tightening its grip on the wooden rosary dangling from her fingers, a daunting sight that followed (y/n) into her dreams, remembering the first time she had been forced to kneel on the wooden pearls, ripping open her skin as a punishment for sinning. “Priest Riddle is asking for you, God knows what he wants, but you better be on your finest behaviour. The Lord is always watching.” 

Slowly (y/n) rose to her feet, gaze averted as she followed Sister Jeany down the hallway, not daring to look at the other nuns, whispering about (y/n). It had been months since she had joined the convent, running away from her hometown, her abusive boyfriend, and her parents that have never cared for her. The convent had taken her in with open arms, at least till the first time they found her smoking a cigarette, punished with cleaning the hallways with a toothbrush and only a glass full of water. 

“Look at me.” The elderly woman forced (y/n) to halt, dangerous eyes shooting shudders down her spine. (Y/n) straightened her posture, forced to get lost in the eyes that projected a picture so haunting (y/n) forgot to breathe. “Whatever he asks you to do, you will do, you won’t protest. He is the Lord’s voice on this holy earth, what he asks you to do, is the Lord’s will. Do you understand?” 

(Y/n) could only nod her head, teeth leaving marks on her lower lip to bite down her smirk. It wasn’t the first time she had been called to Priest Riddle’s office, lured into the dark room that has seen more sins being committed than the human eye could count. The other nuns had no clue of the things the young priest did to (y/n), how he touched her with wandering hands, how he fucked her on his desk as if God himself was acting through his flesh cage. 

“Priest Riddle? (Y/n)’s here.” Sister Jeany’s call was met with a soft “Come in, please”. The woman watched (y/n) step into the room, door being shut in her face with a loud thud. The heavy wood of the door would keep their sounds bottled in, drowned out for curious ears, and nosy minds. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Tell me, (y/n), how many sins have you committed in the past week?” The priest wore a sickening smirk on his lips, leaning back in his chair as he watched her stand proud before him. Her wandering fingers moved up her dress, all too familiar with the game he was playing, asking the same questions he’d always ask. 

“Four.” He hummed at her reply, eyes focusing on her fingers, watching her pop open the buttons of her dark habit. “I touched myself to the thought of you, in the confessional, moaned your name in the middle of the night, hoping that you’d hear me.”

“You’re walking a thin line, (y/n), soon your luck will run out. And then they’ll all know what a greedy whore you are for your priest's cock.” He rose to his feet as if the Devil himself was rising from hell, boots meeting the ground to walk to her. His cold hands caught hers, ripping them from her habit to undo the last button himself. She was naked beneath the habit, she had hoped that the day would end like this, with her body pressed against his, with her eyes squeezed shut and with her fingernails clawed into his skin. 

“For you I’d always sin, one with the call of darkness.” Their lips met in a bruising kiss, forcing a moan to claw through her, arms wrapped around his neck. The priest turned them around, pushing (y/n) against his desk, trapping her with no way out. He had her in his claws, one with the darkness thumping through his veins, a sour emotion that had been etched into his system from his first year on earth, following the Devil’s every command. 

She was pushed back against the table top, legs wrapped around the priest’s legs. His hand disappeared in the pocket of his jacket, wrapping his rosary around his fingers before he brought his hand between her naked thighs, guided by her moans. Her eyes met his as she felt the wooden pearls press against her folds, choking on her sob, not used to the unfamiliar sensation. 

The priest brushed the pearls through her folds, coated in her arousal, forcing the metal cross to leave imprints on her skin. It was sinful, so sinful, and yet (y/n) couldn’t help but beg for more, needing to be stuffed by him, wanting to feel his fingers disappearing inside her. A heavy “Please” rolled off her tongue, echoing through the room like a prayer spoken by one of the nuns, filled by nothing but the wish to please the Lord in Heaven. 

Her trembling frame was pushed even closer towards him, gasping in surprise as she felt two of his fingers being pushing into her, forcing her walls to part. The priest didn’t give her the needed time to adjust, eyes rolling back into her head, trapped in the darkness he had unleashed upon her body. Curses left her, rumbling through his chuckling frame like a prayer both spoke in unison. 

“I will fuck you now, remind you who you belong to. Not to Him, but to me, to me only.” A protesting whine left (y/n) as he pulled his fingers from her cunt, forcing her lips to part to lick his digits clean. Their eyes kept holding contact while she moved her tongue, moaning at her taste, urged on by the anticipation flushing through her system. “Turn around.”

It took her a moment to follow the command, rising to her feet with quivering limbs, back turned towards him as she pressed her front against the table top. His hand came in contact with her behind, spanking her without a warning, making (y/n) tighten her hold on the edge of the table. A simple “Count” left the man, hand coming in contact with her skin once again. 

Every strike was met with a whimper, fighting against the need to press her thighs together, unable to stop her arousal from dripping down her inner thighs. He found a sick satisfaction in seeing her whimper for him, in leaving his handprint on her skin, clearly marking her as his property, his toy. 

Only as a soft “Six” left (y/n) did he let go of her, freeing his hardening cock to give her a few seconds to catch her breath. His cock was brushed through her folds, collecting enough arousal to push into her with ease, coaxing a high pitched moan from her swollen lips. The man fucked her fast, not holding back as his hips snapped against her bruised behind, forcing himself deeper into her tightness with every thrust. 

“Christ, you’re so big.” Her words were met with another strike of his hand, murmuring a sharp “Don’t take His name in vain”. Like a sinning woman should be punished, he left her begging for more, something only He’d be able to give her, not one wandering with darkness seeping from every hole of his body. 

Her knuckles turned lighter as (y/n) clung to the edge of the table, feeling her walls flutter around him, ready to give in within the first few moments. She was desperate for her release, desperate to let go with the priest’s name leaving her, and with her heart picking up its racing beat. 

“Look at you, trembling with my cock buried inside of you, you will burn in hell one day.” It was a foolish threat, he’d burn right next to her, forever tied together by the sins they keep committing together, but (y/n) couldn’t pay his words enough attention, fighting against her arising orgasm. Her walls clenched down on his cock, begging him to give her the final push. With a click of his tongue he tainted her, forcing her to hold on, fucking her faster with groans rumbling through the man of God. 

One of his cold hands found its way to her cunt, rubbing her bundle of nerves to give her the final push, choking on his name. He kept snapping his hips, cock buried inside of her till he forced himself to pull himself free, releasing himself on the back of her thighs. With his cum running along her skin, the priest forced her to stand, lips meeting one last time before they redressed. 

“Oh, and (y/n),” he called after her, stopping her from leaving his office. “Go and pray, confess to your sins, may he be benevolent with your sinning soul.”

[au-roulette]

Happy June!

To celebrate the fact that we are now officially one month away from the start of AU Roulette, have a post detailing the 36 AUs included in this year's challenge -- or don't, if you'd rather be surprised.

This year's AUs have been curated to be intentionally broad, in the hopes that they will encourage unique takes on each prompt and the creativity of the authors participating. You are welcome to write anything that falls under the umbrella of your assigned AUs, whether it's an original universe, a fusion inspired by another fandom, or something else entirely.

(What's AU Roulette, some of you might be asking? An explanation can be found here, along with the link to sign-up!)

Without further ado -- the AU list, under a cut:

Roleswap - Maybe you want to switch two characters' places, do a class-swap for a D&D fandom, try your hand at an age-swap fic, or you have another idea.

Superhero -- Invent an original universe or do a fusion with one of the many popular big-screen superhero stories. Play it straight and give your favorite characters cool powers, or try a deconstruction of the genre. With great AUs comes great responsibility

Gothic Horror -- Castles. Ghosts. Vampires. Drama. Love that conquers Death. Take your inspiration from classic literature or a newer entry in the genre, like The Locked Tomb books. But be sure to make things spooky.

Post-Apocalypse -- Will the world end in fire or in ice? Or maybe economic collapse, war, zombies, or one of many other options? You write what happens next!

Fairy-Tale -- Pick a classic tale from the Grimms, Hans Christian Andersen, Asbjørnsen & Moe, Charles Perrault, or another favorite author to inspire your AU, try out a more modern re-telling, or use fairy-tale elements to craft your own story.

High Seas -- Including but not limited to Pirate AUs and other Age of Sail adventures. Try out something more historical, or throw in as many fantasy elements as you'd like -- or a bit of both.

Time Travel -- For fixing mistakes, making things worse, or time loops. Or maybe you want to write a fusion inspired by a piece of popular time travel media, like Doctor Who.

Western -- Another AU where writers are free to do their history research or to lean into more outlandish genre conventions. Cowboys, cowgirls, and cowpokes all welcome, of course.

Mythology -- Write a story inspired by your favorite myths and legends, from a whole host of different cultures. Or maybe you'd like to try your hand at writing some epic poetry?

Coffee Shop -- A classic everyone knows and has strong feelings about. Play it straight or add a twist, whichever suits your fancy! After all, no one said where the coffee shop has to be...

College/Academia -- Are the characters in your AU students? Professors? Weary adjuncts? Throwing hands at a conference? Some mix of the above?

Theater -- Put those characters on Broadway or cast them in a disaster of a community theater production. Or a school play! All that really matters is the show must go on.

Ghost/Cryptid Hunters -- Maybe you want to write a story starring the next Scooby-Doo crew, or maybe there really is something strange in the neighborhood. Or maybe it'll never be clear what really happened -- it's your choice!

Secret Agent -- Code words, code names, you name it. Write a story about spies, cryptographers, or any other clandestine operators. Take inspiration from history or from James Bond. Just don't spill your secrets too soon.

Detective -- Whether you're writing the world's greatest detective or someone who just can't get a clue, play up the mystery! Use a classic locale like 221B Baker Street or invent your own.

Cyberpunk -- Time to write cyborg identity crises and fight the machine (literally)! Take inspiration from classic media like Neuromancer or Blade Runner or make a totally new cyberpunk universe of your own creation.

High Fantasy -- Elves and dwarves and gnomes, oh my! This AU could encompass everything from Middle Earth to D&D AUs to your favorite high fantasy books you read over and over as a kid. Or maybe you have your own spell to weave.

Band/Musicians -- Whether you decide to make the characters in your AU famous pop stars, part of an orchestra, students at a conservatory, jamming together in their garage, or otherwise musically-inclined, have fun with it!

Reporter/Journalist -- For everything from local anchors and newspaper staff to big-league investigative reporters. Write characters who'll do anything to get a scoop or with a strong sense of justice -- it's your call!

Cosmic Horror -- You don't have to love Lovecraft to get creative with this AU. Make characters comprehend the incomprehensible, send them messages from beyond the stars, and get a little creepy.

Heist -- Will you write a story about master thieves? Vigilantes righting some wrong? What's being stolen and why? Try a Leverage AU or a caper of your own making.

Space Opera -- The genre encompassing works like The Expanse, Imperial Radch, Mass Effect, and Star Wars, brimming with galactic empires, alien species, and chivalric adventures. Write a fusion set in the universe of your favorite work in the genre, or invent a new one!

Sports/Athletics -- Pick a sport, any sport -- whether a team game like hockey, an individual one like archery, a paired one like figure skating, or something a little unconventional, like roller derby or HEMA. Then it's ready, set, write!

Historical Era -- An AU type absolutely bursting with potential, from medieval romances to 1920s Prohibition AUs, to ones inspired by historical fiction like Les Miserables. Whatever era of history strikes your fancy, you can write it.

Road Trip -- Pack your favorite characters in a car and don't forget the snacks. Or maybe the spaceship, or something else if you're feeling adventurous. Where are they headed and why? Only you know the answer!

Space Exploration -- Whether you want to write modern-day astronauts, a futuristic Star Trek AU, or something inspired by the space race, the sky isn't even the limit with this AU.

Urban Fantasy -- For all your modern-with-magic settings. Write an AU inspired by something like Teen Wolf, Artemis Fowl, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or much of Neil Gaiman's oeuvre, or invent your own world where witches and websites coexist.

Museum/Archives -- Have the characters in your AU working in the exhibits or behind the scenes, down in the collections or even as archaeologists or paleontologists. What secrets are waiting to be unearthed there?

Hospital -- A surprisingly flexible AU option -- are the characters working there, or the victims of some unfortunate accident? Or maybe it's a bit of both. Take it wherever you feel like.

Camping/Wilderness Survival -- Could be anything from a fun summer camp or camping trip to a nightmare survival scenario. Write everyone having s'mores around the campfire or something inspired by media like Yellowjackets, where they might be having... something else.

Steampunk -- A fantastic opportunity to get creative with your worldbuilding. Try your hand at some alternate history, or invent a world of airships and other flying machines of your very own.

Shapeshifter -- Can the characters in this AU turn into anything they want? Or maybe they're more limited, like selkies -- even unable to control their shapeshifting at all (can I get an "awoo" from the werewolf fans?)

Classic Literature -- An AU somewhat more dependent on fusion ideas, but still very flexible! Pick a favorite classic book or play and let it inspire your writing!

Dystopian -- Create your own awful society or let a favorite piece of media guide you, like writing a Hunger Games AU. Will the characters break the cycle, or end up trapped in it?

Renaissance Faire -- A recipe for chaos. Write a bunch or faire-goers or have the characters in your AU working at the faire! Adventures await.

Scientist/Mad Science -- Write characters as normal biologists, physicists, and chemists, the next Frankenstein, or as hapless experiments themselves!

[brethilach]

this is extremely nitpicky and it doesn't matter but I just wanted to put it out there that people in Middle Earth would be far more likely to use either the Westron names or the names they have in their own languages to refer to the Valar (as opposed to the Quenya terms). And if they WERE to use an Elvish language they'd still be more likely to use Sindarin over Quenya (which was little more than a conversationally dead language by the late Third Age).

People (aside from the Noldor themselves) would be far more likely to call the Valar the Rodyn or Belain, or simply just "the powers" or "the gods" (if they were a human of non-Númenorean descent). There's no other canon term for Maiar (as far as I know), but the Sindarin term would still be preferred for them (whatever that is), or otherwise they'd just be called "the Beautiful" or even just "spirits". Valinor would be called Dor-Rodyn or just "the land of the powers/gods/rulers of the world" (or whatever term they have in their own language) and people would say Ardhon or just simply say "the World" over "Arda". Valar like Oromë and Varda would be MUCH better known as Araw and Elbereth (if not by the name in one's native language) rather than the names the Noldor gave them (Varda is already referred to as "Elbereth" in LOTR!)

I only say this just because I keep on reading fanfics where characters are casually throwing out Quenya terms to refer to these kind of things and it hurts me,, but it's very much a "he would NOT say that" sort of thing. It doesn't truly effect me at the end of the day

Edit: I want to clarify that I totally get that the need to make things understandable for the average reader is far more important than the frivolous semantics of constructed languages and fictional translation conventions. I'm not saying that people NEED or even SHOULD start using these names in their fics, I was just airing it out for people who DO care about this sort of thing (like me). But I don't think it's wrong to use the Quenya terms because that's what most people are familiar with (and I'll never snub someone's fic just because they do, even if it hurts the linguistic nerd inside my heart a little bit)

[katieaki]

So, you’re interested in jumping into Pony Express but aren’t sure where to start/feel daunted by the undertaking/are freaked out about missing lore & context? Pony Express is intended to be a completely standalone work with no knowledge of my prior work necessary for enjoyment, but it has been rolling for quite a while now! Here’s some info to help you orient yourself! 💫 I recommend looking at this guide on desktop as the mobile version collapses the bullet points in a strange way.

✨ Here’s the absolute most basic summary:

Lou Primrose (30 years old, 5'0", illiterate, hardworking, 3x rodeo champion) is a rider for the Pony Express, the Wasteland's mail service. Lou has agreed to transport an unusual package from the middle of the Wasteland to the nearly uninhabited coast: a glamorous redhead named Holliday Bell. A case of mistaken identity sees Lou brutalized and disabled by religious assassin from the church of Johnny Knives (god of death) Reckoning "Artie" Tehachapi, who attempts to atone for her wrongdoing by serving Lou until she's healed. Together (for better or worse) the three of them head toward the ocean through unknown and dangerous territory.

This work is erotic in nature 🔞 with some violence and survival-type gore.

✨ If you’re totally new here, you might have some questions. Here’s a super quick primer under the cut!

What’s up with The Wasteland?

The Wasteland is a post-apocalyptic, non-dystopian society in the former American southwest. It has been several generations since the civilization Before (that’s us, or maybe like... our grandparents) was decimated. Nobody is particularly interested in the whys or hows of the collapse, though it seems that environmental disaster & earthquakes were the main factor.

It’s a series of towns, shrines, convents, and monasteries. Quite a lot of it is in repurposed buildings from Before (imagine Route 66-style gas stations, diners, and motels, all heavily repaired) and some of it is kind of ramshackle old-west-y new builds.

God of Death, religious assassins, churches– what’s up with all that? I’m afraid, sounds lore-y.

Wasteland society is heavily structured around the two churches of the gods of life & sorrow (The Listening Lady) and death & justice (Johnny Knives), who are married, immortal, and absolutely real. They live apart from the mortals, but they do live in the Wasteland with them. The Listening Lady’s church is responsible for basically every aspect of Wasteland life. Listening Church shrines and convents are also the Wasteland’s official or de facto orphanages, pantries, farms, hospitals, therapists, inns, textile mills, wedding venues, and basically everything else you need to keep a society functioning. Listening Church acolytes may have a huge variety of occupations, from the extremely down-to-earth (midwifery and laundry etc) to the real Weird and Churchy (doing rituals and divination etc). Many of them take a vow of silence in honor of The Listening Lady. The church of Johnny Knives is much smaller and much more specialized. Knife Church disciples are assassins whose sacred duty is to kill those who need killing, as judged by god. 

You don’t really need to get INTO this, though. What you need to know is: Listening Church acolytes are generally warm and kind and in caregiver- or artisan-type roles. Knife Church disciples are peacekeepers & generally a little scary, but are also working toward the public good– kind, but not necessarily nice.

I know the concept of gods and disciples invokes the image of like, robes and shit, but that is NOT how it is! Listening Church acolytes tend toward chiffon and midcentury-lingerie-as-outwear looks and/or country western workwear, depending. Knife Church disciples nearly invariably have sort of a greaser/biker/leather daddy thing going on. They all talk about the gods like they’re their parents and their bosses, which they are. I think it’s kind of more normal than you might be expecting. 

So there’s like, magic?

According to the Wastelanders, yes. You don’t need to worry too much about any of that. Just let them do their things.

And everyone is in a church?

Almost everyone interacts with Listening Church in some way, very few interact with Knife Church in any way, but most people in the Wasteland are ‘civilians’ (that is to say, not working for either church).

And they’re all lesbians? How do they have babies??

They’re not ALL lesbians, but basically all our POV characters are & it’s a very lesbian-heavy society. There are many ways that two women may have children, including biological. You got this, I know you do. 

And everyone is blue?

Yeah, but it doesn’t really come up.

Why?

Because I liked drawing them with the sky blue posca paint marker when I began this body of work.

Ok. What’s up with Lou?

Louetta “Lou” Primrose is a rider for the Pony Express– she’s a Wasteland mailman. Her job is basically her whole life. She’s been working since she was ten years old, working for the Pony Express since she was 14. After receiving a romantic rejection from Venus, the dance hall girl she’s in love with, Lou agrees to take a strange red-headed woman, Holliday Bell, to the (allegedly) uninhabited coast, where Holliday’s wife is (allegedly) waiting for her.

Lou is dedicated, practical, and hard-working, but also hot-headed, frequently mean, a little self-conscious, and ‘a rambling man,’ never in one place for long. She’s markedly not religious among other Wastelanders (so is a great pov character for you if you’re new to al this!). Her greatest achievement has been winning the main event at the Wasteland’s biggest horse games three years in a row, unseating the previous champion. Nobody else really cares that much.

What’s up with Holliday?

Holliday Bell is an elegant and mysterious woman who showed up to Lou’s post office with stamps pinned to her blouse, claiming she’d mailed herself there from a town hundreds of miles away. She is asking Lou, who works at the most westerly post office in Wasteland, to finish the delivery by bringing her way out to the coast where she claims her wife, a pearl diver, is waiting for her. 

Holliday is strange. From the beginning, Lou feels put off by her personality, which is both abrasive and seemingly rehearsed. She can be unspeakably cutting and is obviously hiding a big secret. 

What’s up with Artie?

Reckoning “RT” “Artie” Tehachapi is the Knife Church disciple who, after a series of lies and miscommunications spanning several parties across the Wasteland, is sent to apprehend Lou, who she thinks has kidnapped Holliday. She breaks Lou’s wrist and dislocates her shoulder in their first altercation before she learns that Lou is an innocent party in all of this. Deeply ashamed of her actions, she vows to serve Lou until they make it back to civilization.

Artie is upbeat and optimistic, especially for Knife Church, but her guilt at her transgressions against Lou & eagerness to make up for them have left her in a kind of anxiety spiral.  She’s the only one who has any real survival skills and continually works herself to the last drop, and then works herself a few drops more. When her big, horrible, deep, dark secret is revealed, her mental state continues to deteriorate.

What’s up with Venus? We haven’t seen her in a while?/Who’s the one-armed smokeshow?

Venus is Lou’s love interest, the girl she left behind in Hereafter. We haven’t seen her in a while because she, wisely, stayed there while Lou went off on her extremely inadvisable mission.

Venus of the Wastes is a dime-a-dance girl/saloon girl/sex worker who lives in Hereafter. She is Lou’s friend and Lou is both in love with her and her best client. Just before Lou left to deliver Holliday, she admitted to Venus that she was in love with her. Venus is, at least, very fond of Lou.

✨ Ok, but this is a lot! Where do I start??

If you’re looking to hop in on the story in progress, I’ve made summaries of part 1 , part 2 , and part 3 as we have gone on. I’ll update this with part 4 when we finish it. 

If you’re a completionist, the links above have epub & pdf files of the full text of each part. Here’s where part 4 begins, until we finish that part and I post it all together. You can find the rest of part 4 by scrolling backwards through the collection. I will also attach pdfs & epubs of all the full text to this post on my patreon!

If you’re a completionist completionist & you want it ALL, here’s everything and the chronological order in which they occur in-universe. Again, Pony Express is meant to be able to stand on its own two feet without any of the rest of this, but it might be fun for you to read the rest. The first three here are kind of a series, but Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame and Bloodied on Arrival could both be read independently. Care and Keeping probably needs those two to support it, unless you’re happy just jumping in and figuring stuff out via context. It’s Artie’s backstory, but it’s not necessary for you to read to make Pony Express make sense. It’ll just give you a little more dramatic irony etc. 

Tears Can’t Put Out This Flame  - a novella about Hero Sasaki, a novice acolyte at the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life & sorrow) who has been tasked with delivering a package to an anchorite from her church. Frances is a disgraced assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who has been tasked with escorting her. Through trials of the road, emergency first aid, prayer, ritual (blood and otherwise), a little sex, and a lot of tears, they find love exactly where they should've expected it in the first place.

Bloodied on Arrival - a novel about Nuisance (and Hero), a road-weary assassin from The Church of Johnny Knives (god of justice & death) who finds herself and her new cat taking refuge at a companionship shrine run by a beautiful older widow, Hero, of the Church of the Listening Lady (god of life and sorrow). The two can't deny their immediate connection and aim for a rewarding one-night stand, but things don't go as planned.

Care and Keeping - a work in progress novel(?) about Hero and Nuisance and their new adopted feral child, Artie, a little girl who has known nothing but abuse, pain, and starvation who believes it’s her sacred mission to join Knife Church. Nuisance agrees to train her to join the church in a bid to keep her from it for as long as possible. This is a kind of coming-of-age story for Artie and a becoming parents story for Hero & Nuisance.

Pony Express - A work in progress novel about Lou (also featuring Artie) - see synopsis at beginning of post.

The novel/las are available for purchase on my Patreon for $5 or for pay-what-you-want $5+ on Gumroad. If you find you can’t afford that, but want to read it, please let me know! DM me wherever or email me at missluckycatknives (at) gmail (dot) com I’m happy to make my work accessible to you. All Pony Express and Care and Keeping are free as I work on them. 

[talenlee]

4e: Spooky Heritages

Sometimes when you’re considering a way to make a character, the kind of thing you might need for say, a Halloween season short campaign designed to give everyone an excuse to sit around, tell a story, throw some dice and fight some things, you’re looking for a way to bring in something spooky. Something that isn’t going to show up in the normal births registry, something that’s going to obviously set the tone of a situation apart from the conventional Dwarf-Elf-Human-Yawn collection that’s been tumbling down the narrative staircase since Tolkein first middled the earths.

What if you want to play a monster?

I did an article on making Horror campaign characters a few years ago. Here’s a revisit to the concept space!

Art Source

Glossary Note: Conventionally, the term used in D&D for this mechanical package is race. This is the typical term, and in most conversations about this game system, the term you’re going to wind up using is race. For backwards compatibility and searchability, I am including this passage here. The term I use for this player option is heritage.

The Shade

You ever have that thing where you have like, a junky toy, and then one day you get a brand new version of the same toy, or the second version and you forget you ever owned the original one? The Shade is a dead human, back from the dead, that sacrificed its vitality to become part of the Shadowfell, which 3e longtooths will recognise as the Negative Energy Plane. Basically, a Shade is a Human full of spooky juice, and their reward for being a living undead is, uh,

Garbage.

The Shade gives up a healing surge and in exchange gets training in stealth, access to a pool of (bad) utility powers, and an at-will power that lets you set up hiding, which sounds like maybe it’d have some use then you find out it’s a standard action, meaning that odds are good you’ll not be able to use that stealth. Going into hiding every other turn means, functionally, whatever you’re using that stealth for is cut in half, and there are just better ways to try and make sure you can hide.

It’s a shame, too, because at its heart, what Shade feels like it should be, it doesn’t really have the means to deliver on. A shade feels like it should be insubstantial in some way, ethereal, at least based on the name. There should be something missing in the Shade, but in the case of this player option, the thing that’s missing is ‘a good reason to use it.’

Still, it’s a place to start. The vibes are a thing you can poach and put onto a different mechanical package. There’s even an example of this whole suite being outmoded in this very article! Oh no, not the next one, the next one is about scary frog people.

Art Source

The Bullywug

I’m a firm believer that in any arrangement of three, you do need to have one complete carry. It’s easy to list trios of things that can be spooky in 4th edition D&D, limiting yourself to the ‘good’ stuff that stands out. But there’s something to be said for reaching into the genuinely monstrous when that requires looking at something that pretty unequivocally sucks.

The Bullywug is a heritage that needs a rework, but seems unlikely to get one because nobody cares. The actual base heritage is from the Monster Manual rather than any kind of other sourcebook, and that means it was designed to not just be less appealing than the Player’s Handbook heritages, but also never supported thereafter because nobody cares.

The Bullywug has an ability that diminishes the ability of others to use healing surges around the Bullywug character. This sucks not because it affects your allies (who use healing surges) but instead because it doesn’t really affect your enemies (who don’t). Essentially, the Bullywug is a creature that wants to deliver on the fantasy of being a scary river monster toad beast, but also doesn’t give you any good reason to play it.

Which is a shame! It’s a shame because this is an otherwise unattended place for player heritages! If you’re running 4th edition D&D, and want to make sure people have good creepy/horror options, consider giving the Bullywug a look and goosing it. I’d particularly recommend adding some variety of swim speed, and really, the aura could be something as blanket as a -2 penalty to saving throws, and while that represents a unique form of a player character option, it isn’t something that works to do anything amazing on its own.

Nonetheless, you can have a big wide mouth and terrifying tongue so you can sing appropriately horrifyingly it’s beginning to look a lot like fish-men…

Revenant

Art Source

The Revenant is something of a cadillac in the heritage options for 4th edition spooksters, in that it is both a good flavour and a good mechanical package that delivers on that flavour. It’s pretty nice when you get that lineup and don’t have to deal with a good mechanical package whose flavour sucks (the Dwarf), or a heritage whose flavour rules but the mechanics are a complete crater (really, the Hengeyokai is our biggest offender here).

In the case of the Revenant, you are a dead person. Back from the dead to avenge yourself, or someone else, Crow style. The way this works is a sort of mechanical layering; the Revenant chooses what heritage they were when they were alive, and then they get the Revenant baseline but can use feats and other options from that former heritage. They can even pick up the heritage powers of that heritage, with feats, which is especially cool as an obvious ‘oh well yeah’ kind of choice.

The Revenant adds Living Undead to their types, they get a nice utility power (Dark Reaping isn’t amazing but it is useful for every archetype), and then something truly ‘weird’ in that they can still act while ‘dying’ through the power Unnatural Vitality. This power seems really amazing in its context – being able to do half-actions while ‘dying’ is pretty cool! – it has to run headlong into the problem of how rarely people spend much time dying compared to being alive. The niche application of it (setting aside funny build options involving drowning yourself), are such that you get to play your Revenant in a very cool, spooky way, knowing that you have the backup of Not Immediately Dying, but it’s also not likely to come up in any situation where it isn’t a reasonably fair thing.

Thing is, even if it only comes up once, the point where a baddie hits you, drops you to 0 hp, and you don’t die, and then continue fighting for three more rounds, and if you save you can keep going, and then if you crit suddenly you’re back in the fight while people around you go: Wait, didn’t we kill you, what the hell is happening here?

… that’s going to last.

That’s going to be a good, spooky memory.

Conclusion

There are more options, more places to go. Don’t be surprised if next year we’re doing this again, as we steadily work through every heritage and slowly but steadily presenting ways to be a Horror Character using each one.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[meadowlarkx]

Some March fic recs!

For Tolkien Fanfic Reading Month! Limiting myself to stories I read in March (but posted anytime). (header by Anna Zakharova on Unsplash)

picnic by @swanmaids - A bored and reckless Aredhel goes to Vána's orchards seeking adventure and has an experience. This lush and sexy fic feels like a warm summer afternoon. I love how seductive and eerie Vána is here!

Kiss and Marry by @thecoolblackwaves - Have you ever looked at Celegorm and Curufin and thought, "They should be the stars of a romcom"? No? This fic is here to reveal that wonder to you.

弄假成真 by Divano_Messiah - Maglor has been telling people at school that he has a boyfriend. Maedhros is jealous until he learns who it is. (I admit I read this via google translate, you can too...)

Envy by @polutrope - In Tirion, Maglor and Elemmírë struggle to handle each other's reputations with equanimity. The people around them try to respond. This fic is so funny and sweet--I love this take on Elemmírë and Fëanor's guest appearance is hilariously him.

Youthful Regrets by kitkatkaylie - Turgon and Maglor fall in love in Valinor before Turgon's engagement to Elenwë. I really like the personality contrasts of this ship, with Turgon opening up to Maglor, and how this story sketches out their relationship through the whole arc of Silm to its bitter separation.

I risk my life to make my name by @maironsbigboobs - The brave knight Galadriel goes on a journey to meet the Green Woman Melian and her fate, ft. adventures along the way. I love how Tolkien is blended with Arthurian conventions here--it works so well and brings out the myth vibes of Silm that I love so much!

Strange Currencies chapter 12 by @jouissants - This is such a beautifully-crafted tale in every regard, but I want to especially mention this flashback chapter I read in March, covering Maedhros' and Maglor's voyage on the swan ships up to just before Fëanor's death. The horror of the Fëanorian Noldor arriving in the dark with their distrust, inflated ego, and total lack of knowledge of Middle-earth comes through here so, so vividly--this part can be read by itself, go check it out!!

Oubliette by Stramonium - Horrifying and so vividly written scene of Maedhros in Angband, isolation, and monstrosity. Poetic and awful, I can't do it justice in summarizing it.

arrangement for flute and harp by @jouissants - Maedhros is determined to work late, so Maglor and Fingon decide to entertain each other. The Himring atmosphere and incredible character dynamics make this also really sexy smut such a wonderful story.

whatever you would crave by @eight-pointed-star - Sooo sexy ficlet in which Fingon and Maedhros attend to Maglor's Needs. Short but immensely powerful.

scherzo for ink and parchment by @dovewifes - Charming and comedic missives exchanged between Maedhros and Maglor during the Long Peace, ft. romantic endearments and the invention of emojis. Maedhros' so-apparent love for Maglor is something I especially cherish about this fun fic.

Star-kissed by @aipilosse - Celeborn of Doriath rescues recently-of-Gondolin (and silver-haired!) Celebrimbor from a predicament in Nan Dungortheb. Incredibly clever, funny, and hot!

Purification by @zealouswerewolfcollector - Thingol is curious about Maedhros: throne sex ensues. A favorite ship of mine in a flavor I'd never considered. Incredibly intense and super well-written.

Comfort from a Heavy Hand by @undercat-overdog - After the Bragollach, Mablung tends to an injured Beleg, and they seek comfort together. The wreckage and destruction of the battle feels so vivid in this one, and the dynamic of Beleg/Mablung as past teacher and student (and current battle companions) is wonderful.

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow by @welcomingdisaster - A brilliant installment in an ongoing Children of Húrin AU series that has the most beautiful, unsettling, and dreamlike atmosphere. In this fic Maedhros teaches "Cáno" about pleasure in preparation for their marriage bed. Catnip to me personally!!

Proxy by @aipilosse - Celebrimbor comes to reproach Celegorm in Nargothrond after Finrod's departure. They fuck. Gender, tension, messy and complicated emotional dynamics all around. The dirty talk is so so good.

Star of the Nevrast Shore by joanofarcstan - Silmarillion filk of one of my favorite folk songs! What more is there to say!! A sweet tale of Gondolin told from Voronwë's point of view, recounting the love between him, Tuor (the star of the Nevrast shore), Idril, and Maeglin.

A Light Burns in the Forest by fictional_hr_department - Thranduil and Oropher escape Menegroth with child Elwing. The title and art by @lycheesodas give me chills and the atmosphere of the fic as they make their disorienting journey to Sirion really brings to life the terrible aftermath of the second kinslaying.

By Your Side by HiyoriTomioka - fem!Eärendil and Elwing support each other in this ficlet... such a good vision of this ship, and the way Eärendil thinks about Tuor and Idril here with longing uncertainty makes me think of a trans!Eärendil even though that is not explicit.

Something Sleepless in Mirkwood by @imakemywings - Thranduil sickens as the Greenwood does. Elrond tries to heal him, but can't understand at first what's happening. Brilliant and canon-compliant (To Me) wry, proud, and eerie woodland king Thranduil--go give this a read!

A boat, my boat, out upon the River by Tethys_resort - Sméagol is trying to craft his own boat to take fishing. His family keeps getting in the way. This sweet fic paints such an idyllic picture of proto-Hobbit life and made me really feel the tragedy of Gollum.

The Fortress by TheLegendCreator - Brief and haunting fic in which a Dwarf visits the ruins of Himring and they have a conversation. I love the view this offers of Maedhros and the fierce loyalty Himring and its folk had for him.

one whole with my other by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor - Indis' marriage to Finwë is transferred to bind her instead to reembodied Míriel. This turns out to be a good thing. An incredibly touching, beautifully wrought and worldbuilt story. I just love it so much.

The Number One Exercise for Relieving Work-Related Stress (Click to Find Out!) by @imakemywings - Date night in Mirkwood. Maglor (Noldorin princess, ex-kinslayer) adorns herself for the benefit of Thranduil (the Elvenqueen)--or that's her plan, anyway. This story is so sexy, so funny, and honestly so touching. I just adore this ship as a happy ending for Maglor and their relationship is gorgeously fleshed out here.

Cousin, Sister, Lover, Queen by broken_pencils - Lesbian Éowyn discovers desire... through Éomer's betrothed Lothíriel. Lothíriel is a stealth fav for me from the Éomer fics I used to read as a kid and I really enjoyed her here, and the lush atmosphere of this story.

His Return by @danmeiljie - Beautiful, tender scene of Maedhros and Maglor reuniting as per @tari-cua's art. Such lovely descriptions in this one and so cozy.

[darkmaga-returns]

What is it going to take for people to finally start waking up?  Warheads are literally raining out of the sky.  The Russians essentially simulated what a nuclear attack on Ukraine’s fourth largest city would look like, and yet most people don’t seem too alarmed.  The Russians only used conventional warheads, but they are clearly warning us that next time things could be very different. Meanwhile, we could see a massive escalation in the Middle East at any moment.  Jesus specifically warned us that the days just before His return would be a time of “wars and rumors of wars”, and if you haven’t figured out that we are living in a time of “wars and rumors of wars” by now, I don’t know what to say.

If we really are living in the end times, war is in our future.

In fact, Revelation 6:8 tells us that war will be one of the primary reasons why one-fourth of the entire global population dies during the seal judgments…

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

This is coming.

Maybe you don’t think it is coming right away, but if the Bible is true it is coming.

And at this moment we are closer to an apocalyptic global war than we have been since the days of World War II.

Yesterday, a British missile that was fired from Ukrainian territory hit a military base in Russia and wounded a top North Korean general…

[just-horrible-things]

Blue

Have you ever been on a plane bound west, and flown out from the night-shadow of the Earth back into the daylight, even though your body still believes it to be the dead of night? The effect is magical and somewhat eerie – sunrise at midnight, an impossibility made possible by the wonders of modern transportation.

Aeroplanes have always been a little magical to me. I love the moment of take-off, when the wheels come off the tarmac and you feel the lift – the implausible transition from the familiar rumble of a road vehicle – albeit a very very large and very very fast one – to flight, true flight.

Landing brings – in balance – a certain disappointment. Although I am usually as eager as the next person to get off the plane and onward to my next destination, there is still a kind of a pang at touchdown. We leave the domain of the skies and gravity reasserts itself, rendering us earthbound once more.

The plane in question departed at 23:47 local time – only ten minutes after its scheduled departure, so not bad going. Being early spring it was by then quite dark outside, and we took off with cabin lights dimmed and the false promise of sleep in the air.

Bearing almost directly westward, it wasn’t long before the sky outside began to lighten again – someone’s evening becoming our dawn as the clocks turned back. Being a peculiar sort of romantic, I watched the sky avidly as we pursued the recently-set Sun over the horizon, hoping to see it rise again ahead of us.

As I was seated in the middle of my row, this involved a certain amount of craning my head to see past the woman in the window seat. And while people on planes are usually quite understanding of the desire to see out of the window, there is still a certain degree of awkwardness. We laughed about it as one does to clear embarrassment from the air, and from there we were sort of obliged to speak to one another.

She told me that she would swap with me if it weren’t for her air-sickness, and I told her that it was no problem. She mentioned that her family tease her for taking long haul flights anyway, and told me that she was visiting her parents. I spoke briefly about the convention I was attending, we diverted into a brief tangent on anime due to a misunderstanding, introductions were made – her name was Aisyah, which took me a couple of attempts to pronounce correctly – and then we got to talking about my career.

(In the end we didn’t get to see the sun rise in the west, as the nose of the plane thoroughly obstructed our view. Alas.)

I normally try to avoid talking much about my writing, as it seems a little conceited and I’m very conscious of the temptation to ramble well beyond the point of anyone else’s interest in the details of a fictional economy or public transport network. But Aisyah was exceedingly curious about the genre and I must admit I allowed myself to be drawn into a rather self-aggrandising discussion of my works and process.

It was in the middle of this discussion that the bell preceding an announcement chimed, and the senior flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers asking if there were any meteorologists aboard.

As someone who understands what a meteorologist studies, this was somewhat concerning to me. 

Aisyah and I shared a look, and then I instinctively looked to the window. By this point Aisyah had somewhat rotated in her seat to make conversation more comfortable, and all I could see over her shoulder was a slice of clear blue sky.

I joked, uncomfortably, about expecting turbulence, and then we returned to our conversation – which at the time I think was about the sliding scale between hard and soft sci fi.

Shortly thereafter, a second announcement was made, this time asking for any scientists aboard – particularly if working in the physical sciences – to please made themselves known to the cabin crew.

This, I think not unreasonably, was rather unsettling to me.

“Why would they need a scientist?” Aisyah asked. “Don’t they usually ask for a doctor?” “In movies, sure,” I responded, “I don’t know if they do that in real life.” But I had no answer to her first, more important question.

We looked around the cabin. A number of other passengers seemed similarly concerned and perplexed, but most were still absorbed in whatever distraction they had brought aboard – screens and books and magazines. A few were successfully sleeping, despite the daylight.

When the announcement was repeated, Aisyah reached up and pushed the call button above our heads.

“You didn’t tell me you worked in science. What do you study?” She laughed – in retrospect somewhat uncomfortably – made a non-committal sound, and wondered aloud, “What do you think they want?”

It did not take long for a flight attendant to appear. Her customer service smile was absent, replaced by grim gravity. I looked to Aisyah expectantly, already pressing myself back against my seat to make room for her to get up. But she pointed at me.

“Me? Oh, no, I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said. “I mean, I have an undergrad degree in physics but that was a decade ago – I’m an author. I write fiction.” “He’s very knowledgeable,” Aisyah argued. “He writes science fiction, and he reads research papers for all of the science. He’s very nearly a scientist.”

The flight attendant’s lips pressed together in an – understandably! – unimpressed line. She looked up and down the cabin. I looked up and down the cabin. There was a distinct absence of lit call signals, or other attendants speaking to specific passengers as if they had been called. 

I could only see one guy at the front speaking to a rather agitated-looking passenger. He met his colleague’s eyes and did a little grimace and a tiny headshake that I took to mean that his passenger wasn’t a good candidate either.

“Are you?” the attendant said to me, “Very nearly a scientist?” “I mean, I guess I’m well read, I’d consider my grasp of the fundamentals pretty solid…” “And you studied physics?” “Yeah…” “I suppose you’ll do.”

So I followed her up the plane, through the tiny crew area, to the rather solid security doors that separate the pilots from the passengers. 

We were joined as we passed them by the agitated maybe-scientist found by the other flight attendant. He looked about fourteen – though I don’t think he was fourteen, he just had one of those faces that are cursed – or blessed – with looking like teenagers right up until their hair starts to grey. His sense of style reinforced the impression of youth. He had pierced ears and an undercut, and his faded t-shirt bore what I could only assume was the logo of some band I don’t know.

The pilot and co-pilot glanced round as we were ushered into the cockpit. I was surprised by how much space there was, honestly. It was pretty cramped, but there was more space behind the pilots’ seats than I expected. Enough for us two passengers and the one flight attendant to awkwardly squeeze in together. 

I guess the pilots have to be able to get up and stretch their legs every so often.

The captain’s expression was as grim as the attendant’s. There was a slightly wild, haunted cast to her eyes, which did nothing to calm my building unease. She gestured, sharply but expansively, at the windshield – is it called a windshield on an aeroplane? I’m not sure.

Mr. Undercut saw it first. His shocked little “oh” cued me in to the scale of what I was looking for. 

When I saw it, I couldn’t imagine how I didn’t see it instantly. It became searingly obvious, like an optical illusion suddenly snapping into focus, except accompanied by the unpleasant lurching feeling of missing a step on the stairs.

“Where’s the ground?” Mr. Undercut asked. “You’ve identified the crux of the problem,” said the pilot.

As far as the eye could see, there was just open blue sky – a little paler above us, a shade deeper below.

I leant closer to the glass as far as I could, as if imagining that the horizon was merely fractionally out of view beneath the body of the plane. “Are we over the ocean?” I asked, dumbly. I knew we weren’t over the ocean. We weren’t supposed to be over the ocean, at any rate. “No.” 

“Okay,” I said. “Nobody panic.” “Nobody is panicking,” the co-pilot retorted sharply.

“It could be some kind of – attack,” said Undercut. “Someone on the ground aiming something at us that – causes some kind of illusion?” “It seems more likely that it’s some kind of atmospheric effect,” I argued. “What, exactly, are your qualifications?” the co-pilot demanded.

Undercut ran a hand awkwardly through his hair. “I’m doing a PhD in Physical Chemistry,” he admitted. “I have no qualifications,” I said, in a hurry to get that fact out there as soon as possible. “I mean, I have an undergrad degree but – I think we’re the best they could find. I’m widely read. Sorry.” The pilot cast the flight attendant a look of disbelief. “Two hundred passengers,” the co-pilot bemoaned, “and not a single doctorate?” “Sorry,” I repeated.

We stared at the wide open blue in shared discomfort.

“It’s probably some kind of reflection or refraction,” I theorised nervously. “Like a mirage, a temperature differential in the air. Sometimes people on the ground see images floating in the sky of cities or mountains that are hundreds of miles over the horizon –” “Fata Morgana,” the pilot interjected. “Right. Because it refracts – and if the boundary between layers was sharp enough it could even reflect. We’re seeing the sky above us, reflected off a boundary below us. Maybe?” “We thought that,” said the pilot. “What do the instruments say?”

There was a drawn out silence that made me sure before they said anything that what the instruments said was nothing good.

“That’s the other half of the problem,” the pilot ventured grudgingly. “We’ve got no radio, no connection to anyone at all.” “Well.” I swallowed. I was very glad I’m not a nervous flyer. “It could be the same effect, right? The radio waves are bouncing off the same boundary, they can’t reach us.” “We should have a satellite connection,” the co-pilot put in.

I looked up. I’m not sure why a plane needs such a good view of the sky above, but we could certainly see a lot further up than down.

Somewhere up there, the plane should have been able to see the satellites above us. I was struck by the unsettling idea that if it weren’t daylight, there’d be no stars up there either, just unbroken black.

“Hold on,” I said, as I felt that stomach-dropping-out lurching sensation again. “Where’s the sun?”

It should have been directly ahead of us, with the glare in all of our eyes. Instead the light was directionless, like an overcast day but brighter, seeming to come from the whole sky at once and no place in particular.

“Yeah,” said the pilot.

Another silence. I could hear voices from the cabin behind us, the murmur of a lot of people talking at once. 

“Have we… got turned around somehow? Could it be behind us?” “Can’t rule it out. No compass.” “No compass?” That couldn’t be a mirage effect. “No compass.” “It’s not behind us,” the pilot said. “You’d see it on the wings.” “We’ve checked,” the flight attendant added.

She ducked out, then. We heard the raised voices more clearly for a second, with the door open. People had noticed that they couldn't see the ground.

“Some kind of lenticular effect,” Undercut said. He had his phone out and was tapping furiously into what looked at a glance like some kind of notes app. “Yeah,” I agreed. “We’re in a kind of bubble, light and other EM waves are refracting around us. We can’t see the sun or the ground because neither of them are at the right angle.” “Have you heard of anything like that?” asked the pilot. “Anything remotely like that?” “Other than the floating city mirages… no.” “Sun dogs,” Undercut suggested. “It must be a very rare phenomenon. But rare phenomena happen. Someone’s got to be the first to document these things. If we lose altitude we ought to pass below the edge of the effect…”

The hubbub behind us was growing louder. I could hear one man in particular growing louder and more hysterical minute by minute.

The captain flicked a switch, and held up a hand to the rest of us to be quiet.

“This is your captain speaking. As you can see from your windows, we are currently passing through a rare atmospheric phenomenon causing the ground not to be visible from our current position. Please remain calm.

“I have lit the Fasten Seatbelts sign. There is a possibility of sudden turbulence, so please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened, and enjoy the unusual view from the windows. Or, if you are finding it unsettling, simply close your window shutters and wait for it to pass.

“We are about to start descending in order to reach a more favourable layer of air. We are not intending to land, this is likely to be a short descent. We are still three and a half hours from our destination. Once again, please return to your seats and remain calm.”

She exhaled, long and slow, after finishing the announcement. We all listened. The hubbub was no quieter – perhaps even a little louder – but perhaps less agitated and upset. The yelling man had quieted down.

Undercut was still tapping away on his phone.

“I don’t think you can get the refractive index of air high enough,” he said, “to explain this.” “What about reflection?” I asked. “You’d see through it if it was reflection. Like looking at the surface of water.” “Not if it was strong enough.” “I’m not done with the numbers,” he acknowledged. “But I don’t think it’s possible.” “What about contaminants?” I said. “Some… industrial gas in the air, messing with the optical properties…” “Doubtful,” he said. “Diffusion would spread it out pretty fast…” “Diffusion’s weird sometimes. Think haloclines.” “Mh,” he agreed, still tapping. “Can’t rule it out. Yet.”

I felt the subtle shift that told us we’d started our descent. Downward acceleration countering gravity by the tiniest amount. More subtle than the descent of a lift going down, but definitely noticeable.

“You’ll get one hell of a PhD out of this,” I joked. “Whatever the cause.” “In physical chemistry? I don’t think so.” “You’ll have to change to physics.” “Oh hell no.”

“What’s our altitude?” I asked. “Altimeters are out,” the pilot said. “Or at least… the needles aren’t moving.” “Tell me that’s an electronic system,” Undercut said. “Something that can have just, an error…” “The backup is just a barometer. Physical. Detects atmospheric pressure.” “Okay,” I said. “Okay. Well… what do they say our altitude is?” “Ten point two kilometers. Same as before… this.” “And they agree with each other, the different instruments?” “Yes.”

Descent continued. It didn’t feel like much, but I’m no expert and I had no idea how to assess how fast we were descending. Whatever the pilots felt appropriate, I supposed. The conversation had died. Undercut was still buried in his calculations, trying to find a set of conditions that could explain what we were seeing. The rest of us stared, unsettled, into the unbroken blue.

There weren’t even clouds, not even a wisp or a pale haze. Just blue.

[lets-talk-gundam]

The EMS-07 Elevado

Fueled by a burning hatred for the Earth Federation, Crux Dogatie of Jupiter-sphere began secretly reforming the colonies into the Jupiter Empire, declaring himself Supreme Leader.

To aid the goal of exacting revenge for the Federation's abandonment, and their callous offering of political marriage to gain influence in the region, the Jupiter Empire developed their own mobile suits, far removed from the conventions of MS design in Earth-sphere.

Among the most striking of these was the EMS-07 Elevado.

With the mainstay mobile suit of the Jupiter Empire - the EMS-06 Batalla - serving as a base, the Elevado was developed as a high-performance alternative for use by ace pilots. It also saw extensive use by the personal guard of Supreme Leader Crux Dogatie.

The Elevado featured a number of differences from its predecessor, intended to fit its high-performance role. Namely, the addition of more thrusters on the back, affording pilots finer control and the ability to pull off more complex maneuvers.

The most eye-catching feature of the Elevado however, was undeniably its head. The long, sleek design conjures images of Aliens from the ancient films of Earth's middle-historical period. While definitely an intimidating look, the elongated head did serve a practical design purpose. The Elevado featured an extensive sensor suite, allowing pilots to gather higher quantities of more reliable data at longer ranges.

The machine also featured a beam machine gun built-in to its claw arm, which itself was powerful enough to pierce the armor of some mobile suits. It was also capable of using standard MS armaments deployed by the Jupiter Empire.

The Elevado's name can also be transliterated as Erebado. Some translated sources use that transliteration. I elected to use Elevado since it fits nicely with the Spanish theme set by the Batalla.

The EMS-07 Elevado was originally designed by Yuuichi Hasegawa for the 1994 manga Mobile Suit Crossbone Gundam.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

Ghost Story Idea --

Some say you die three times:

When your body dies (however your culture/medical conventions establish that)

At the conclusion of your funeral rites (Burial, cremation, offering your body to the vultures -- again, determined by your culture), and

When your name is spoken for the last time.

Well, I think there must be a fourth (and final) time:

4. When you forget your own name(s) -- including nicknames (so that if someone ever does say your name again, you don't recognize it, and so it doesn't keep you tethered)

And once you've forgotten all your previous names, you're ready to be reincarnated, and collect a new batch.

Some spirits don't want to be reincarnated, and would rather stay retired in their culture's version of a Happy Afterlife, and so they spend their time repeating a litany of their names to themselves.

You, though, are starting to forget. You can feel your official, legal name, start to slip away. But you kind of remember the sound of it. You remember that it could be punned on "fish," and had a glottal stop in the middle. Even though you remember your best friend's nickname for you, you know even that memory won't last forever. So you start emotionally preparing yourself for reincarnation.

And then, one day -- maybe a thousand or so years after your funeral rites -- you hear your name again. It's badly pronounced, and the person saying is stuttering over the sounds. But it's clearly your name.

It pulls you back to Earth, and you find a lone Academic in the archive rooms in the back of a museum, pouring over manuscript fragments that someone collected a century or two prior, and stuck in a drawer, and never bothered with again.

But this Academic has just found their doctoral thesis. So now, it's your job to haunt this one person to make sure they retell your history correctly...

[possibilistfanfiction]

wherever you want to go with this but i trust you -- prompt: blood

[uh @unicyclehippo & i are writing joan of arc themed lil fics bc … hello ava 👀 & mine is undoubtedly the more deranged of the two but ... here u go lol]

//

ava comes back gentle; ava comes back covered in blood. 

‘i came back,’ she says, in the middle of the night when neither of you can sleep, after she’d stood in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing red from her skin, in the middle of a beautiful valley in france that has crumbling wine caves and a slow river, covered in reeds, currents that remember its history, the rot and death and face-down bodies. 

‘i came back,’ she prays into your skin, her fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage like she’s remembering a church she worshipped at centuries ago, an organ and its pipes; your heart and ventricles and your own blood, faithful. ava touches you like she’s lived a thousand years; maybe she has. her eyes are the same brown as they were when you met, when she’d only been resurrected once, when she had cried at the marvel of the ocean and her own hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’re worthy of a strength like this — worthy of sacredness and consecration and your mother’s voice — i’d rather you take your own life than be gay — and maybe for so long you had taken your own life and shoved it down into the hollow of your throat, into the spaces between the bones of your wrists; you had discarded your want and offered up your slow-beating heart in its place.

ava kneels before you and scrapes her teeth along the inside of your thigh, the skin there pale and soft. it’s dark until she brings her mouth to your center and moans, and then the room glows: gold and blue — ava, ava, ava: life; some kind of god, some kind of — i am begging you to touch me; oh, i’m on fire, oh, i’m on fire; history and elegy are akin; you are my sweetest downfall, i loved you first. the holiness in ava is not of this earth — the metal, the burn — but she is, dirt under her fingernails when she came through the portal, blood coming out of her ears, covering her face. ava’s tongue is soft and she holds your body in the palms of her hands and the room is blue and gold, a room where you get what you want: crosses held before you while you die and eternal salvation and her name like a goddamn hymn and fuck, fuck, baby and your hips grinding down on her mouth and your hands tangled in her hair — hair that you had cut when you had wished for a home amidst the mountains and the tender press of her spine in the morning blue and hair that you had cut again a few days ago, trembling hands both times because she was beautiful, a blade at her neck and curls floating to the floor. she had asked you to, and now she asks you to do something for her again — to come, to come, to come. you hold your breath when you do, consecration.

the holy and the horror — the light comes in the name of the voice — and ava comes back ready to dance with you and laugh and ava comes back with enough power to detonate bombs with her hands. you kiss her and she tucks a flower behind your ear, waiting for your next battle at a convent in the countryside. ava eats without apology, whatever she wants, and drinks wine that stains her lips red, and kisses you in front of everyone; she is hot when you touch her, when her walls flutter and curl around your fingers and you touch her. sometimes you don’t know what to say so you just tell her what you know: primeval forests are so remote that humans don’t belong there, that people die when they go there, that there are wolves and moss and weather so cold humans can’t feel their hands. ‘what do you think our past lives were like?’ she asks, one day as you spar, divine powers aside, and you wonder: were you always her protector? have you always been by her side? have you watched her die, every time? ‘one,’ you say, like you remember it in your hands, ‘we were happy; we lived on a farm and we were poor, but we had milk and eggs and bread you knew how to make. i’d go out in the morning with the dog and you spun wool and it was quiet, and green.’ she sits against you, the halo and the divinium in her back against your front, enough to kill you, and her, many times over. ‘verde, que te quiero verde,’ she says, ‘we grew old. who died first?’

‘does it matter?’

‘no.’ she’s quiet; a ship slowly goes by. ‘we’d wake early, for breakfast and you rested your head in my lap when you were tired.’ 

‘i have loved you a long time.’

she traces a pattern along the lines of your hand, a scar straight across the passes right through them. 

the days move on and ava heals and ava bandages your cuts and bruises and a broken wrist when you don’t, when you are human and frail and strong; ava falls asleep, too wild and small and lonely and beautiful, her spine curled against your chest. she wakes you with coffee and once, after a particularly bad battle, where you can’t move the next morning, a blow to your head too hard, she stays with you all day in bed, reading and running her fingers through your hair. she wears a soft sweater and socks with little dogs on them and says you’re a miracle, you’re such a miracle, i would destroy the world before i lose you and it’s true; it’s scripture it’s sacred it’s heresy it’s a blessing. a promise from a god, while you feel woozy and nauseous and your neck aches — a promise from a god, weighty and beautiful and sighed into your skin in the afternoon rain.

ava comes back in love with you; ava comes back —

there’s an explosion inside the sepulchre and everything is on fire; you have not been scared for so long — forgive us, we lived happily during the war; but on the wild nights who can you call home? only the one who knows your name — and you wonder if ava died staring at a cross; you wonder if you will grieve in this life, as you had before. you wonder if ava knew, if ava has always known, if ava was tired. 

but then ava comes back — again, again — sooty and with torn armor and a gash across her face that hasn’t healed, blood streaming down. she walks through fire, unburnt, a smirk, even, on her face. ava comes back and kisses you and you taste blood and ash and dust to dust and the strawberry chapstick she had put on in the van before the battle, tucked in into her pocket with a wink. you have seen many miracles but this is one of an order you will never understand, one that will stop people from killing each other, one that is catastrophe and heaven.

‘let’s go home, bea,’ ava says, and you search her mouth for a sacrament and find it in the press of her tongue on the backs of your teeth. ‘let’s go home.’

and you do — the ocean, and in bed weeks later, the cut across her face red and shiny and healed, the edges pulled together taught, the burn on the palm of your hand a webbed scar right in the middle —

‘did you know,’ she says, in the moon and the quiet, ‘that joan of arc was put to death for wearing men’s clothing? she was so theologically clever that they could only order an execution if she relapsed into heresy; the guards at the prison she was at only gave her men’s clothes, which they eventually used to convict her.’

you kiss ava’s temple; her skin smells like lavender. she presses her lips to your pulse point. 

‘being a girl,’ she says, her brow furrowed, your bodies stretched and tangled under the sheets. ‘she burned at the stake for being a girl.’

‘do you — do you remember?’

she turns toward you, different than you remember but still the same, still exuberant about the sea and ice cream and books she loves, texting and movie theaters and petting every dog you pass on the street; ‘sometimes.’

‘okay.’

’there are days —‘ she laces your fingers together — ‘that i feel a call backward, in my palms, in my knees, in the back of my skull. to understand, to see. there are days when all i know of this life is to love you.’ she presses a kiss to the divinium tattoo on your forearm that glows blue in the dark when she’s near. ‘this is how i know you. you are what i know.’

‘i will never watch you die again.’

‘i’m not sure i can.’

‘well then i’ll join you, wherever we go next.’

‘yeah,’ she says, so sure, prophetic, ‘you will.’

ava comes back for you —

what did the voice tell you when you returned to your room? it told me that i should answer you bravely.